As many of you are aware, I've joined an online dating site. It's rife with lunatics and 21 year olds looking for their Mrs. Robinson. I actually added an addendum to my profile last week that said, "If you're under 25 years old, please don't message me. I'm sure you're a great guy, but I have no desire to be your Mrs. Robinson. Don't know who that is? Google it".

Yeah it's that bad.

I work at the senior management level of a community College in a relatively small area. People love to talk. Our front page news includes articles about emails sent by the wife of a local politican. Yes, THAT small. We have no crime to speak of so what else are people going to talk about really? I'm going somewhere with this, give me a minute.

I'm very aware of what I do and say - and how it reflects on my employer. No one at work knows I'm a member of an online dating site. It would fuel the gossip mongers for days. No, I do not have an inflated ego, I just know how people talk. I have no desire to be gossip fodder for the crowd in the staff room.

So last night I'm online surfing through profiles of various men and I get an instant message. I respond and we go back and forth for awhile. This guy is CUTE and YOUNG - 27. This puts him 10 years younger than me. I have not figured out where my boundaries are with regard to dating and age. Is 27 too young for an almost 37 year old woman? I don't know. But we're chatting and there's no harm in that, right? This whole online thing is hit or miss. I sometimes get IM'd by guys who will sit there expecting me to carry the entire "conversation". That doesn't fly with me. Or guys who are so incredibly boring that my eyes bleed and I cannot fathom how they would actually hold a conversation in real life. This guy wasn't like that, he zinged the replies back as quick as I fired them out. He had a biting sense of humour which always attracts me.

And then I found out he's a student. Not only is he a student - right at this very fucking moment he's in a classroom beside my office. I saw him walking by earlier this morning. It was bound to happen, right?

He asked me to go for a drink this weekend (he moves fast which I like). I had to explain to him that I work at his College. That I wasn't sure if I was comfortable going out with a student. I couldn't even give the poor guy my first name, considering the fact that there's no one else in the organization with my first name. He has no idea what I look like and here I am checking him out as he walks by my office. I must admit it kind of amuses me. He was surprisingly ok with my hesitation, he seemed to understand it.

There are just so many pitfalls that this could lead to, me becoming the top item on the gossip circuit being just one of them.

What do you think? Is 27 too young? Am I just asking for trouble by going for a drink with a student? To my knowledge there is no policy against staff socializing with students. That does not mean there isn't an unwritten policy. I don't know, it's never been an issue in my world. Up until now. If I wasn't in the position I'm in, I probably would not give it a second thought. But I am.

I need you to talk me off the ledge because I'm about fucking ready to jump.

It has not been two weeks since Monty almost killed him and his brother. It will be two weeks this Saturday. I'm still having nightmares.

When I went to pick the kids up from their Dad's Wednesday night only Jimmy and Nora came out to the car. Where's Monty? Jimmy explains that Monty is staying at Dad's for the night because Dad is taking him to look at a car.

crickets

blink

blink

crickets

So I sat there pondering what to do. Do I go in the house and force my 6'2" -200 pound, 18 year old son into the car? Yeah, I didn't think so either. Do I sit there waiting for Ex to get home and have a calm, rational discussion with him about this? Judging by the way my blood was pounding in my veins I'm not sure how calm or rational the conversation would have been.

So I left. I took the two kids who I won't be writing out of my will home and proceeded to worry, stress, and fume for the rest of the night. By yesterday morning, I had myself convinced that I was overreacting. They were, after all, just going to look, right? No harm in looking. I knew Monty didn't have nearly enough money in his account to purchase any type of vehicle so no harm no foul, right?

Keep in mind I have told you countless times I'm very good at deluding myself.

A million dollars to the person that can guess what was parked in Ex's driveway yesterday morning when I dropped the kids that I don't want to hang from their fucking toenails off. That's right, a sparkly, rust colored, four door Sunfire.

blink

blink

blink

In the house I go. Did you hear the results of that conversation clear across the country? That's what I thought....

Let me tell you something about Ex. He does not argue with me. He does not raise his voice, he does not shout, he does not get emotional. It makes me want to punch him in the fucking face. Goddamn fight with me would you!!! What ensued was without a doubt the worst fight I've had with Ex and Monty. They do not understand my fear, they do not understand my anger over not being consulted about this purchase, they do not get that as a mother, it's my god given fucking right to be hysterical at the thought of my son killing himself because he's too arrogant and cocky to drive defensively.

As I stood there looking at the two of them I realized I was fighting a losing battle. Monty is his father's clone, it was like arguing with two Ex's. It gave me chills. In their mind, it's absolutely necessary Monty has a vehicle (I know, makes no good goddamn sense to me either) and I am the irrational, overprotective mother.

Accept the things you cannot change? That's always been a difficult pill for me to swallow. So I left Monty with his father. Not only because of the car issue but because I'm tired of being treated like a second class citizen by my son. I'm tired of being told that I don't know what I'm talking about, that my opinion does not matter, and that essentially I'm stupid. I know all teens think their parents are stupid. I know this. Thinking it and saying it are two different things. I don't have to listen to it in a house that I work two fucking jobs to pay the mortgage on.

Yeah, I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm frustrated.

But mostly, I'm scared. I'm scared of when (not if) that phone call comes, or worse yet it won't be a phone call, it will be a knock on the door telling me my son isn't coming home again.

It's not an irrational fear (is it?). I feel this to the very core of my being. It's a sense stronger than anything I've ever had before in my life. And it scares me. He tempted fate once, what if he's not as lucky the next time?

I think I've finally stopped shaking from the near death experience of my boys. Working 14 hour days on last week kept my mind from constantly focusing on the accident. It did not however keep me from seeing the truck everytime I closed my eyes which in turn made me not want to close my eyes. It's difficult to sleep when you don't want to close your eyes. So no fucking sleep, which makes me a little crazier than normal.

The only thing that kept me going on was knowing that I had 5 whole fucking days off with no work whatsoever. None. Zilch. Zero. And boy did I make the most of those days.

I've pretty much pickled my liver and my body is crying out in protest for sleep and non-alcholoic fluids. We all know yours truly loves her glass of vino but I rarely imbibe in more than a glass or two. I think I drank a whole fucking vineyard last weekend. There were large quantities of wine consumed on the beach until 5:30 am. A spontaneous date with motorcycle boy saw the two of us heading to the beach at 10:00 on Thursday night - memories that I will have with me when I'm old and shitting myself in a seniors home let me tell you. Laying on a blanket with a gazzillion stars overhead, the sound of the surf pounding against the shore, vino in hand in the company of a beautiful boy who makes you laugh until you want to pee. Those are good times people.

There were large quantities of wine consumed on the dance floor of a club, where I danced until I looked as though I had been at the beach. There were large quantites of wine consumed while sitting at my place watching movies. I seem to be really good at making up for the fact that I've lived for almost 3 years as a nun.

Of course none of this helps me forget the huge, angry, black bruise that covers my boy's chest and stomach. The image would not leave my mind, even though he was out at his father's house.

I partied like this knowing that yesterday, the world must right itself on it's axis once more. The early morning routines have started again. It's time to be the responsible drill sergeant who manages time in micro-seconds rather than hours. The start of another school year (both at home and work) brings with it the ridgid routine we as Mom's must follow to ensure our kids have the food they need, clean clothes, drives, homework, and projects completed. Yeah I know kids always need to eat...but during summer holiday if supper isn't ready until 7:00 rather than 6:00 it's not the end of the world. If there's no clean clothes for the morning well they just wear their pj's until noon. What? You don't let your kids wear pj's till noon?

It also means the influx of a brand new group of 1600 students at work. It means instructors will be back from summer holidays. It means alot of chaos and trying to make alot of people happy when I just want to stab almost all a few of them in the jugular with a pencil. It means the end to days of the boss coming into the office at 2pm and saying, "Let's close up for the afternoon". Sigh

This school year will see my oldest child graduate from high school and start another chapter of his life. I imagine him crossing that stage, knowing how much work and tears it has taken for him to get there, and it gives me goosebumps. I'm so incredibly grateful that he is alive to turn the page.

Nora came out of her room this morning in her new jeans and t-shirt and my mouth fell open in complete astonishment. Nora is 12 and over the summer she's completely lost all traces of her little girl physique. At 5'5" she's just a hairs breath away from being as tall as her mother. Her face has thinned out and she has these beautiful cheekbones. She has an ass. When did my little girl get a booty? When did her life stop being about dolls and giggles?

JoinThe Challenge

A Bunch of Bitches Blogging About Our Weight Loss Journey

About Me

Dual Mom

Mom to three, gradually learning how to be the person I want to be. Successfully sharing custody of little lovelies with their father for the past 9 years which has forced me to try and figure out who I am beyond motherhood. The answer appears to be multi-faceted: funny, sometimes too sarcastic, friend, mother, sister, shoe lover, food lover, bookworm, student, friend to many. Hoping to figure out the best way to get the most out of this wild ride called life.